Pounding
by thedtree
Summary: (We didn't pound into each other tonight. We, in the irony of all things nice and safe, made what can only be some kind of mockery of love.) Buffy POV. Buffy ponders a sound she can't place.


**Pounding**   
by thedtree

Spoilers: Post Wrecked, in the near future.   
Rating: PG   
Disclaimer: Joss? Who's Joss? Oh, you mean that guy who owns BtVS and everything and who won't sue me because, clearly, I'm only borrowing the characters....   
Summary: "We didn't pound into each other tonight. We, in the irony of all things nice and safe, made what can only be some kind of mockery of love."  
A little POV vignette, from Buffy, after..well, you know. Bringing the house down. Except it's set in the future a bit.   
A/N: As a diehard S/B shipper, am I in shock at the non shipperness. Written in half an hour, it's a crappy excuse for a short 3am fanfic. So be nice.   
  
A/N 2004: I'm not much of a Spuffy fan anymore, but I edited this fic awhile ago and it's all new and improved, so I thought I'd replace the previous piece of crap with this one. I'm much prouder of this one.   
  
Feedback: Oh, come on. Lie to me. (Or don't....) mayathewillowtreehotmail.com

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I've been sitting here for an hour now, a confusing debate going through my slightly tired brain. My brain, crappy mystery solver that it is, doesn't seem to recognize what I'm hearing. Or if I'm even hearing it at all.   
  
The sound is dull- not boring, but... well, what's a synonym for dull? I mean, you say dull and of course people think you're talking about boring, but that's not really what I mean. Is there another word for dull that doesn't mean boring? God, I need a thesaurus. And I need to get back on topic, otherwise this sound will drive me up the wall all night and I won't get my decent three hours a night sleep. And you know what? Who the hell made dull mean boring anyway? When describing something boring, isn't the word we're looking for, oh I don't know- 'boring'?   
  
I sigh. Perhaps, when thinking it over, I may be more tired than I first thought.   
  
Which doesn't help me at all. I don't know what I'm hearing, and the cat killer (You know, curiosity killed the cat? ..... Well, I thought it was funny) in me wants to know. Needs to know. Did I mention my precious three hours a night? This is cutting into the second. I'll be lucky to get half an hour, at the rate my brain is solving this. Get on topic, brain.   
  
Breathy silence. No, it's not breathy silence, because you can't hear silence, can you? Stupid paradox (I used that word right, didn't I?). Silence means the absence of noise, and breathing has a sound. A steady, liberating sound. A sexy sound. A calming sound. It doesn't matter what breathing you're doing, there's always a sound for those of us who have the ability to hear it as clearly as I can. So it's not breathy silence, as paradox-like as that is.   
  
Plus, what I hear has a bass rhythm to it. Like an ocean, but.. It's not like an ocean. Ocean has water, and this doesn't sound swishy. It's like a pounding. And suddenly, as I depict that, a healthy game of word association creeps into my exhausted brain: pounding - sex - violent - ruthless - pain - misery.   
  
Would you look at that? All that crap vampires get off on. All the crap that's been getting me off for weeks.   
  
Speaking of vampires...   
  
Looking at my... sexual partner? Shag buddy? Itch scratcher? Well, I don't know what Spike is. I know I don't love him, he's not my lover, nor my boyfriend, not even my friend. But looking at him...would it be cliché if I told you that he looks peaceful? Normal? Really, really sexy looking?   
  
He's currently lying next to me, dead asleep. Literally, actually, unless you want to get all technical with me like he would because then it'd be 'undead asleep', which doesn't actually make sense, does it? The blanket he found is draped over our naked bodies, and I note with some appreciation that it doesn't have burn marks on it. Which just really goes to show how much of this is creeping into my norm now. Not-asleep in non-boyfriend's home? Check burn marks on blanket. Yeah, I bet that's what all the normal girls are doing right about now.   
  
We didn't pound into each other tonight. We, in the irony of all things nice and safe, made what can only be some kind of mockery of love. Can't make love if I don't love him, which I don't, so I can only assume it was a mockery out of it. Although, not for him, I guess. But I'm kinda still of the mind that he doesn't really love me, so excuse me while I stick wholeheartedly with the word 'mock'.   
  
It was weird, to say the least. I'd even go as far as to say that it was sweet. Yeah, it was kinda sweet. And it was so scary I thought I'd rather fall of that goddamn tower again.   
  
But it was there. Palpable. No misery, no violence, no pounding.   
  
Maybe that's what I'm hearing. Maybe we were born for this, for the pain and the pounding, and what I'm hearing is a subconscious reminder that we can do nothing other than bring forth carnage into this world. We're killers, after all.   
  
God, maybe this elusive pounding in my head will stay there forever. The punishment, the constant reminder that we're nothing but killers. Nothing but destroyers. As much as I wish it weren't true, as much as I wish part of me didn't believe it...   
  
I look back down at Spike. He really is adorable when he's sleeping. If I didn't know that those hands resting so serenely on the pillow had taken so much life, that those succulent lips had drunk so much innocent blood, if I didn't know that his body has created such violence...   
  
Yeah, I'd probably love him. I'd probably snuggle next to him right now, maybe wake him up, or better yet, just settle for watching him sleep, contemplating how beautiful he is, instead of how deadly.   
  
And he is. Deadly, that is. And as long as I'm with him, I can't help but feel deadly. I feel the guilt he isn't feeling for the thousands of lives he's taken away. And I want to apologize for it all. Because he won't, and you know what? I can't, and so we really can't be.   
  
It's not even an issue of safety anymore. I know he'll never hurt me. He can, and he chooses not to. But I can't be the only humanity between us. I can't. I can't be his moral compass, I can't carry the guilt he'd unknowingly place on me.   
  
Of its own accord my hand reaches for his soft, curly hair. Damn, I'm acting all lovelorn now, aren't I?   
  
Maybe I do care a little. I'm not totally frozen, you know. I love Dawn, I'm worried about Willow, I miss Giles. And I think I kinda care about Spike.   
  
You know what? It's not enough.   
  
Even if he cares for me. Even if he was willing to sacrifice his life for my sister to keep a promise to me. Even if he counted the days I was gone, kept the promise even though I was dead, was my only confidante when everyone else had either deaf ears or couldn't be told. Even if he cares for me a hell of a lot more than I care for him.   
  
We'd be so good, too, I think. Only in the back of my brain do I sometimes entertain those thoughts. We have already proved that we can be friends, already proved we can fight alongside each other, have already proved the sex is greater than great. Sure, we haven't proved those things at the exact same time... well, except for the last two, I guess... but the point is- we could be great. He would take care of me and Dawn, even against my protests. He'd probably let me grow. We'd fight, and we'd fuck and maybe if I wasn't so fucking torn up right now I'd feel what he feels. But he'd most likely destroy me too. And I'd destroy him, in return, because I iam/i so fucking torn up and sometimes, when I'm feeling a little less torn up and I start thinking about what all this could mean to him, I think that maybe, if he loves me as much as he says he does, I would break him. He'd be broken, and it'd be my fault. Yet again.   
  
The pounding gets stronger as I play with Spike's hair, and a sudden thought occurs to me, from out of nowhere. It's a stupid thought, an impossible thought, but god I know it's right. I call myself all kinds of names before admitting it outloud in my head - speaking of paradoxes (right?) - and when I do, I gasp outloud - really outloud this time - because I'd never really realized that it'd exist. He says he loves me, but I'm fucked up so excuse me while I still don't trust him about that. But I trust myself, at least at this moment, and I think I finally know what the pounding is.   
  
It's Spike's heart.   
  
I can't feel it underneath my hand, which is now at his chest, and I can't physically hear it, but it's there. It's not in him, though. It's in me. It's pounding, and expanding. It thrives in me, thumping right along with my own. For a second I let it envelop me. I guess I was wrong, it's not a reminder that all we can bring forth is hate and pain. It's a reminder that all we have ever brought forth is hate and pain before this night. This scary and confusingly sweet night.   
  
His heart, and I can't fully understand it even as I think it, is beating in me.   
  
It's too bad that I'll have to break it. I don't want to break it, but it's his heart or mine. It's his love, my downfall, or staying sane. And I need to stay sane. For Dawn, especially. For my friends, too. And last of all, for myself.   
  
Curling up to him, for the first time since he let himself fall asleep during our times together, thinking I was deep in slumber- I look at his face again. It's peaceful, beautiful and if I had any struggling vibes left in me about this whole thing I'd both regret ever thinking that and want to smash the hope that lingers there. It's written all over his face, after tonight- the hope, that is. I put my hand to where his dead heart is, closing my eyes.   
  
Yeah, it's too bad, I think as I let the pounding lull me to sleep.   
  
Fin.

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End file.
